


Little Spot

by swallowed_stars



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Sheith, Season 7 Spoilers, Stay at home husband Shiro, domestic sheith, i'm back on my bullshit, post-show, pregnant Keith, trans keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 07:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15407691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowed_stars/pseuds/swallowed_stars
Summary: Keith goes to the infirmary to get his hand fixed up, he leaves with news that he's pregnant.





	Little Spot

Keith’s staring down at the linoleum floor of the infirmary, rubbing the purple terrain of bruised knuckles on his dominant hand. The doctor stands before Keith, opening his palm expectantly. Keith offers his damaged hand without a word, biting the edge of his mouth as he tries to quell his rage. The caress of gauze winds around Keith’s knuckles, the pinch of pressure causing Keith to wince. But then, he’s had worse.

 

“X-Ray shows it’s not broken,” says the doctor simply. He’s trying to mask the judgment and disappointment in his tone, but it isn’t working.

 

Keith nods, “That’s good.”

 

“You shouldn’t still be getting into scuffles…”

 

Keith’s aware. He’s a professional at a highly-respected institution; he can’t afford to be a short-tempered kid any longer.

 

“...you know it can’t be good for you or the baby.”

 

 _That_ he was not aware of.

 

“What?” mumbles Keith, raising his head. The doctor gives him a puzzled look, piecing together that Keith hadn’t yet figured this out for himself. Keith wants to laugh bitterly at the idea that this man thought Keith was willingly getting into fights while knowing he was pregnant. He sure did leave an impact here at the Garrison.

 

The doctor moves away from Keith, flicking on the lightbox hanging across from Keith and gathering Keith’s X-Ray in his hand. The doctor tucks the radiograph precisely onto the lightbox and there, displayed perfectly for Keith, is his chest and his hand, which they had asked him to raise given the limited mobility when he first arrived. Keith’s eyes skim over bone and tissue, slopes and angles and bumps, but he doesn’t see it until the doctor draws a small circle around it. It’s round and microscopic, little more than a lesion surrounded by blue dry-erase marker to Keith’s unprofessional eye. As the doctor points at it, the blood drains from Keith’s face.

 

“See that little spot? You’re about seven weeks,” the doctor says. Keith can barely hear him over the thrum of his heart in his ears, but he knows at that moment that it’s true. His nausea, his heightened emotions, his racing sex drive, they all have a connection. Keith feels stupid for not realizing sooner.

 

Keith doesn’t respond to the doctor but instead hops off of the examination table, traipsing toward the lightbox with mouth agape like a possessed man. He can’t even feel the dull ache rippling through his knuckles any longer, the knowledge that he’s staring at his baby muting out anything and everything else. Forget the doctor. Forget the Garrison. Forget Marshall and his asshole remarks and the imprint Keith left in his cheekbone. Keith is looking at his own baby; his and Shiro’s baby.

 

_Shiro…_

 

✶✶✶

Keith finds him out on the porch with Kosmo, the wolf curled up sleeping at Shiro’s feet until he hears Keith approaching. Shiro is lounging on the porch swing that he’d insisted they install the second they moved in, a serene smile upon his lips. He looks at peace with himself, something that Keith’s longed to see for years now. Keith returns his smile in spite of the anxiety he now feels and he reaches out to pet Kosmo when he teleports to Keith’s side. They’ve been even more inseparable lately, and now it makes sense as to why.

 

“You’re back early,” Shiro remarks, hooking his legs over the side of the swing and standing at his full height. He looks so handsome and casual, a loose flannel with the top two buttons undone, his square reading glasses, his metal hand shoved haphazardly in the pocket of his jeans. A lump too large to swallow collects in Keith’s throat at the reminder that he’s amassing a miniature version of this man in his lower belly. He’s still trapped between the stages of fearfully stunned and happily overjoyed.

 

“Figured I’d grade papers at home. Besides, I don’t think I was exactly wanted in the lounge by the time school was over today.” Keith says, lifting up onto his toes to kiss Shiro’s cheek.

 

“Why’s that?” Shiro says, crossing his arms. His eyes adjust downward to Keith’s bandaged up hand and Keith now knows he can’t talk his way around it.

 

Keith looks away from Shiro, focusing instead on petting Kosmo’s fur as he quietly admits: “I punched Marshall in the face.”

 

“And why did you punch Marshall in the face?” Shiro says. Keith can hear the seeds of disappointment in his voice, and it makes the situation that much more unbearable. He doesn’t want to talk about this now.

 

“Keith.” Shiro insists after Keith’s gone quiet for awhile.

 

Keith sighs so deeply that his entire body sags. He looks at Shiro with glowering eyes as he says: “He was making fun of you.”

 

A roll of Shiro’s eyes, a frown of disbelief.

 

“Keith…”

 

“He called you a cripple and a fuckup.”

 

“Keith.”

 

“He said anyone could pilot a Garrison mission after you.”

 

“Keith, just listen to me.”

 

“He fucking knew I was in there. He knew I could hear him and he didn’t care. We saved this entire planet along with his sorry ass and he thinks he can-”

 

Two hands clamp down onto Keith’s shoulders, obstructing Keith’s ranting. Keith hardens his jaw and allows his gaze to meet Shiro’s. Shiro is stern as he says: “Keith, you can’t do things like that. It could cost you your job.”

 

Keith sighs. Whether he’s feeling truly patronized or irrationally hormonal he’s no longer certain.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“I know you hate Marshall. He’s a dick, no doubt about it, but I’m absolutely not worth starting fights like that.”

 

Keith wants to tell him that he’s worth everything, literally _everything_ to him, but there’s little use in it. Shiro’s still tone deaf to how much Keith loves him, how much Keith would do whatever was necessary for him. But then, there are always physical reminders.

 

Keith raises a hand toward his abdomen but lets it fall before Shiro can make note of the action. Instead, Keith says: “I’m gonna try to make amends for it, and I’m not gonna go picking more fights. I promise.”

 

Shiro nods, “Good. You’re a flight instructor, probably the best they’ve ever had. Don’t give them an incentive to boot you.”

 

It’s about pride more than money; both Keith and Shiro are privy to this. They have more than enough from Shiro’s family estate, repayment for his defamation of character, different appearances discussing how the two of them saved the universe. Keith went to instruct at the Garrison at Shiro’s insistence and because, deep down, he does miss flying, but is it worth having to listen to people like Marshall Lewis badmouth his husband?

 

Keith feels a shock of pain start in his hand and zip up his entire arm as he realizes his afflicted hand is curled into a tight fist. Keith slowly unclenches.

 

 _Don’t forget that little tadpole in your belly, Keith,_ he reminds himself, _this is for them too._

 

Keith exhales, “you’re right. I need to be more understanding. More-”

 

“-Patient.” Shiro finishes for him, a sly little wink for accompaniment. He looks content today, sure of himself. It’s as good a time as any to yank it all out from under him.

 

“I know I need to be a good example for my students, but I also need to be a good example for the baby. I can’t endanger it.” Keith says, earning him a bewildered blink from Shiro. Kosmo presses his snout affectionately against Keith’s abdomen, as though comprehending the exchange somehow.

 

“I’m pregnant. But before you go telling me off for how irresponsible I was being, I didn’t know until I visited the infirmary today.” Keith’s eyes drop to the floor again. He feels genuine guilt over this; he’s lucky a legitimate fight didn’t break out or he really could have jeopardized himself and the baby.

 

Shiro reaches out and takes Keith’s hand, kissing the back of it.

 

“I knew.”

 

“You _what_?”

 

Shiro laughs softly, “You think I didn’t notice you getting sick at the same time every couple of days, or how our wolf won’t leave your side? The peanut butter and strawberry sandwiches you’ve been eating for breakfast?”

 

“That’s not such a weird combo,” says Keith defensively.

 

“Keith, you’ve hated peanut butter your entire life.”

 

Keith has no rebuttal, but he searches his husband for a reaction. He’s had time to think on this news, but that doesn’t guarantee his feelings on the matter one way or the other.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Are you not excited?” Keith says with more vulnerability than he cares to show. The idea that Shiro might not want this baby is a dagger in him.

 

Shiro wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders, a half-embrace to perhaps atone for how distant he sounds. A warm kiss is deposited against Keith’s cheek as Shiro says: “I needed you to come to the conclusion because I needed to know what _you_ wanted.”

 

Keith smiles, his eyes brimming with tears. Shiro continues:

 

“You left for work the morning that I put everything together. I was in the kitchen getting my coffee and everything just hit me at once. I cried so hard that I spilled hot coffee on my feet.”

 

“You blamed that on Kosmo teleporting and startling you,” Keith says with a chuckle.

 

“That’s happened, believe me, but that day it was my own fault. I was just overwrought with emotion.” Shiro pauses there and takes Keith by both hands, leading the two of them to the porch swing. They sit down side-by-side, their eyes locked on one another.

 

“The thing is, Keith,” Shiro explains, “I never thought I’d get here. I always assumed I’d die before I got to have kids, or at the very least that I’d be too weak to even hold them in my arms should some miracle happen. What I mean to say is that I am so, _so_ happy. But I also know this isn’t just about me. I’m not the one carrying.”

 

Keith runs a hand down his own chest, fingers skimming over the folds of his binder beneath his shirt, stopping only when his hand reaches his abdomen. It’s still flat, no real indication of anything, but Keith knows they’re there regardless.

 

“I want this baby.” Keith says, looking out at horizon beyond their house, overlapping strips of orange and pink as the sun works at winking itself out.

 

“Will it really upset your dysphoria?” Shiro says. He leans back into a lying position and opens his arms, prompting Keith to lie back against him. Shiro’s hands come to rest against Keith’s abdomen, where they’ll be gravitating toward a lot in the coming months. Poor Kosmo is left by his lonesome, sitting on his back legs and watching the two of them relaxing into one another on the swing.

 

Keith all but mewls as Shiro threads his hands through Keith’s hair, tendrils of wind blowing around the remainder of it. Keith answers: “It will at times, particularly in the chest area, but I want to do this.”

 

They lie in silence, rocking slowly as the wind propels them, Keith’s hand coming to rest over Shiro’s, a gold ring clinking against a silver ring. Eventually Keith quips:

 

“Marshall’s lucky I’m gonna be too slow to punch him when he makes fun of me for getting fat.”

 

“I’ll punch him for you then.” Shiro declares, trying to picture how terrifically cute Keith will look in his Garrison uniform once his belly starts expanding. He knows Keith’s going to keep working until he pops, and he respects that so long as Keith’s careful about it.

 

“You _just_ got done giving me your disapproving ‘I’m not worth it’ line.” Keith says, turning his head to pout at his husband.

 

“Yeah well I’m not on the Garrison’s payroll. I can do as I please.” Shiro shoots back, the two of them laughing until it whittles away into yet another period of silence. The sun drags lower in the sky beyond, encasing Shiro and Keith in deep shadows. This time, it’s Shiro who speaks up again.

 

“We’ll have to tell your mom.”

 

“And our friends,” Keith adds, closing his eyes as his husband massages his abdomen soothingly.

 

“I already told Grandad.” Shiro says, nearly a whisper. Whether this is due to embarrassment or extreme emotion, Keith doesn’t know. He finds no shame in it, however. Every time something major happens, Shiro will talk to the framed picture of Grandad Shirogane on their nightstand as though the man is present. It keeps Shiro close to him, so why should Keith mind it?

 

“He loved you, Takashi.” Keith murmurs, “He’d be proud of you.”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro says curtly. Keith can hear the wetness in his tone.

 

“Why don’t you and I go get a proper ultrasound done soon, and we can put Tadpole’s picture right next to him?” Keith suggests, looking up to gauge Shiro’s reaction.

 

Tears are already slipping down Shiro’s face, “Tadpole?”

 

“It’s what I’m calling them ‘till we know.”

 

Shiro sniffles only once. “I love you, Keith.”

 

Keith can already see it: an enlarged scan of that little spot he saw earlier today. Beside it, a picture of the baby’s grandfather, the person who raised Shiro but couldn’t live long enough to see him go to the stars and back. The older man is smiling directly at the photographer, a white-brimmed hat and short-sleeved shirt indicating that it was taken in the summertime. This is how it’s meant to be, Keith thinks. This is how they’re going to get the life they’ve always wanted. It’s hasn’t been devoid of loss and scars, fierce battles and purple bruises, but Keith and Shiro aren't meant to get things the easy way.

 

“I love you, Shiro.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses


End file.
